


post-its

by blandPasta (saltyynoodles)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, F/M, Female!Reader - Freeform, a drabble that became longer, amnesia caused by concussion, sticky notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-11-21 05:22:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11350734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltyynoodles/pseuds/blandPasta
Summary: An accident leaves Ushijima unable to remember and he's left with only colored notes to remind him of who he once was.Just who was he before?





	1. Chapter 1

You knew it was bad the moment he opened his eyes and there was only blank confusion registered in his expression.

Ushijima Wakatoshi was not a person most would call expressive— but, well, dating someone for five years gave you an advantage. You could see all the thoughts he had in his movements. In that aspect, Wakatoshi was incredibly emotional. His method of only moving ‘necessarily’ often meant the gestures that shone through were even more genuine.

His eyebrows furrowed said _I’m concentrating_ , his tensed muscles said _I’m focused_ , his palm slamming the ball into the hardwood floors said _I’m strong_. Then there are the other motions, made simply for you. The gentle brush that murmured _are you okay?_ the way he walked next to you even if his class was on the opposite side of the campus that reminded you he cared, the rare smile that lit up your world that screamed _I love you_. But this look— it was empty.

It whispered, _who are you?_

Your mouth dries and suddenly you can’t bring yourself to spill all the worries and concerns you’d had since the moment he’d collapsed after the impact and had been diagnosed with a concussion.

Even before, Wakatoshi had always been a rather forgetful person— you’d always liked to joke about it being because all he thought about was volleyball (to which he’d respond “but I’m always thinking about _you_ ”). He’d made a habit of writing things to remember on sticky notes, posting them all over your shared apartment. They varied from the simplest _get milk_ on the refrigerator to _Tendou-san’s birthday is next Thursday_. Even if he didn’t always look like it, Wakatoshi had cared. A lot.

But you were scared not even your boyfriend’s hundreds of post-its would fix this.

The doctors cleared Ushijima to go home, saying he’d have to come back the next day for a check in. As he changed into the change of clothes you’d brought over you noticed he was staring at you intently.

“Who . . . are you?” His voice, low and guttural, had always been so comforting. Now it felt like rocks grinding your heart away. _He really doesn’t . . . ._ There was genuine concern in his eyes as you bowed quickly with an apology and ran to the bathroom.

Not even the white noise of the hospital would completely cover up the sound of you retching.

Washing off your face, you looked in the mirror and slapped your cheeks. _No crying_. Not now. Wakatoshi needed you.

You tried to ignore the voice in the back of your head that whispered that he didn’t even remember you— much less need you.

Walking quickly back to the room, you bowed, “ah, sorry about that . . . Ushijima-san. I’m [name]. I’ll be taking you home.” You bit your lip and tried not to let the burning in your eyes show at having to use formalities.

At Wakatoshi’s apartment— really your shared apartment— the man turned around and looked at you blankly.

“I don’t know where my keys are,” he spoke suddenly, honest as ever.

Your throat clenched as you handed over the keys, trying desperately to ignore the tiny bird keychain you’d placed on it. A small personalisation that would probably go unnoticed— if Ushijima couldn’t even remember your name there was no way he’d recall that day.

But he stared at it for far longer than necessary and then slowly looked at you. Just as you began to hope he would comment on it, Ushijima gave a bow. “Thank you for helping me back here. I think I’ll remember how to get back to the hospital tomorrow though, I don’t wish to inconvenience you.”

A dismissal and a goodbye.

You didn’t miss the formal ‘ _gozaimasu_ ’ added on.

You turned sharply, trying to ignore the fact the burning had moved to your chest and your tears had already escaped. Rubbing uselessly at your face, you tried to block out the sound of the door clicking shut.

 

* * *

 

 

Ushijima walked around the small apartment. It was definitely tiny, a single bedroom with a bathroom, and a small kitchen and living space. It wasn’t the biggest— but it was homey. Walking through was like looking through a brochure of what made Ushijima. He liked to play volleyball, he was terrible at cooking, and apparently liked cows? Clothes were sparse in his closet (to be expected, he didn’t take himself for one to obsess over clothing), but there were piles of neatly folded girls clothes in a separate drawer, far too small for his own frame. _Strange_.

But the thing that unnerved him the most was—

Picking up a trash bin from under the kitchen counter, Ushijima began shoving squares of colored paper that seemed to fill the entire floor and walls in, scowling. Apparently he was also a messy person. That would have to change.

It took Ushijima five more minutes before he realized there was _writing_ on them. Little notes and pieces. Questions he wanted to ask but never got around to. Reminders. Chunks of who Ushijima was. _Just who was he?_ Ushijima Wakatoshi.

Some had dates on them, some only had three words. But one way or another, they had all been important to him. Ushijima sat down, digging through the trash, uncrumpling the notes.

 _Tell Goshiki to work on his strength_.

Goshiki— a teammate? Ushijima gently touched the jersey in his closet, _Shiratorizawa_ printed proudly on the uniform.

_Reon’s birthday is the 30th._

_Reon_. Ushijima was sure he was a friend. Had he remembered to get him something? He couldn’t remember.

The notes went on and on, describing practices, faults, mistakes, and painted out his life. How strange it was to be able to read these snippets on a person he doesn’t even remember. Ushijima gently swept up the sticky notes. Hours had already passed by and his stomach growled. Walking to the kitchen, Ushijima realized suddenly _he had no idea where anything was_.

He rushed around, opening and closing drawers. _Knives, spices, rice, canned foods._ On the last drawer, a sticky note fell out.

 _Anniversary on the 22nd. Celebrate with [name]_.

 _[name]_ — Ushijima froze, trying desperately to _remember_. He glanced at his hand— no ring— so, dating? Then he remembered the lady from the hospital. _I’m [name]._ Come to think of it— there had been other things in his room. He rushed to the bedroom, looking at the picture frames on the bedside. He was not a sentimental person— he could already sense that. But there they were— there _she_ was. Hugging people like the way you were in the photographs wasn’t something that just happened with strangers.

“[name],” Ushijima tried, feeling the name roll over his tongue, surprisingly familiar. She had smiled at him but her eyes had been unimaginably sad. She missed a person that was lost in the depths of his mind.

Had this Ushijima been happy? He couldn’t help but feel a sense of emptiness— like losing something and forgetting you ever lost it. Ushijima picked up the picture of you resting your head against him and taking the photo— laughing. Even he’d cracked a small smile. A small crinkle alerted him and Ushijima turned the frame over.

_Remind [name] that I love her. She forgets sometimes._

The frame dropped to the ground and Ushijima realized he was shaking, fat tears rolling silently down his face. He— did _he_ love her? Did he love her still?

He couldn’t remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited 7/9/18: wow the formatting on the italics sure got messed up! Thanks computer!   
> Also that moment, if this was a crack fic, Ushijima would’ve thought, ‘was I into cross dressing??’


	2. I miss You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The requested second part. Not all stories have happy endings.

The road to recovery isn’t an easy one. Sometimes it never ends, going on and on into the distance. Or sometimes it just stops, sudden and abrupt. Sometimes things never get ‘better’. A lot of the time, we get so caught up in what we perceive as ‘better’ that we forget what we had missed in the first place.

‘Retrograde amnesia’ is what they called it. The inability to recall memories before the incident.

Amnesia caused by concussions could last weeks, months— or even forever.

You tried not to think about that a lot.

Instead you made yourself busy, finding a new apartment, educating yourself on a whole new level of medical injuries from sprained ankles, and trying to work with Ushijima. Trying, trying, trying— you’re trying so hard and it hurt so much more when you fell— you’re not even sure if it’s worth it anymore.

But even so— you refused to replace your belongings— your way of silently denying, saying _he’ll come ‘back’ soon._ He had to.

But every time a look of recognition flashed upon Ushijima’s face, it was the ultimate hurt— he was recalling the you from last week, the you from the hospital— not the you from _before_. Not the you that he’d hold in his arms and gently touch, not the you he’d cared for—

Not the you who had been more than a friend.

Taking a deep breath, you knocked twice on his door. “Ushijima-san, it’s me, [name]!”

The door swung open inside and Ushijima looked down at you, expression a more relaxed version of his normal “RBF”. To others it might’ve seemed just as ominous, but to you it was the face that said _friend_. Somehow, that placid gaze hurt more than any blank expression. If he had already forgotten you, this was him placing the earth upon your grave.

You gave a tight smile and bowed. “It’s nice seeing you Ushijima-san. You look well. How have the checkups been?” As far as he knew, you were simply old friends— nothing more.

Tendou had asked you about your decision— _wouldn’t he be happier with you again?_ You hadn’t told him how there was the nagging ludicrous feeling that he wouldn’t want to return things to ‘normal’ after hearing about them. _Why? It’s not like he_ choose _to forget you. To forget all of you._

The bitter voice inside would respond with _it sure didn’t take him long to remember how to spike again._

So you’d put up a smile and walked back into Ushijima’s ( _your_ ) home, had spun a tale of friendship and high school and memories and it was all so _fake_. But you still couldn’t shake the want to spend time with him, to simply be _around_ him. You didn’t care if it was fake and plasticy— _he’s still alive isn’t he? No internal bleeding— surprisingly swell despite the concussion_.

Ushijima set out the dinner and you began to eat. Swamped in your thoughts, you didn’t catch his low voice beginning to speak.

“[name]-san? I was asking if I make you unhappy.” Those honest eyes stared at you, dark olive gaze showing nothing but concern.

Your stomach twisted and suddenly you didn’t feel hungry at all. “No— it’s not th—”

“Don’t lie to me.” Even if his memory was gone, Ushijima retained his observation from volleyball. Almost as if his body had remembered you despite his mind, he’d instantly picked up your fidgeting cues of lying. You stayed quiet, a bit shocked— _Wakatoshi never used to cut me off._ “You’re uncomfortable around me. I notice this every time. You force yourself to smile and laugh— why?”

Ushijima’s large hands clenched the table quietly. This was his version of a temper. “ _Why were you so important to me?_ ” He started shaking and his eyes shined in anguish. “I can’t remember— do you have any idea of what this is like?”

You stayed silent, shock reeling through your mind.

You watched the face you’d adored crumple. “I’m trying [name]-san, _god, that’s the only thing I can do anymore_ , to piece everything— my _life_ — together, but nothing is coming back! So _please_ , [name]— _who were you to me?_ What was Ushijima Wakatoshi to you?”

Lover, boyfriend, best friend.

A chill ran through you as you realized he was crying. Wakatoshi didn’t cry— he didn’t. It wasn’t like him.

“Wakat— “ You cut yourself off from using his first name. _Too informal— I’m still a stranger, Wakatoshi doesn’t like skipping formalities—_

“ _To hell with these formalities!_ If you know anything— _anything_ — you haven’t told me already! Please! I beg of you!”

You wanted to tell him— you really did. But as soon as you lifted your gaze from your trembling hands to his eyes— you froze.

You’d used to laugh at Tendou’s stories during high school. “Yeah, yeah! You wouldn’t believe it [name]-chan! Whenever Wakatoshi-kun steps up, a shiver just goes through the opposing team! Forget his spike— his stare is pretty intimidating.” The two of you would giggle at the thought of your boyfriend being anything but awkwardly gentle. “Hmm, yeah, those spikes though! What a monster.” But there hadn’t been fear— more of awe.

But now you were standing on the other side of the court and it felt a whole lot more lonely.

Your thoughts, your worries, your anxieties over the past month threatened to spill as you locked eyes with the man you’d loved so fiercely. But now it was just a jumble of confused emotions and hurt. You tried speaking but nothing would come out.

_I can’t do it. I can’t._

Ushijima had once told you “if you ever feel uncertain, go with your gut instinct and follow it. Life is too short to waste time.” It had been one of the longest statements he’d said.

Like a volleyball game, life went by at a lightning pace— you only had a few opportunities and you had to make the most of it. And once it was over, it was over.

But the ball was in the air and you couldn’t bring yourself to spike it.

You just couldn’t shake the feeling that things would go terribly wrong if you told Ushijima everything. He had a right to know his life— the life you’d shared together— but for once you wanted to feel as if you were protecting him. That you _could_ protect him.

The ball hit the ground. The gymnasium was quiet.

“I’m sorry Ushijima-san, I don’t know anything more about you. I have to go now,” you stood up and pushed in your chair. Grabbing your things and leaving your half-finished meal, you quickly left, unable to meet Ushijima’s hollow gaze.

Your gut instinct had said _run_.

* * *

 

A few months passed. Summer rolled into winter and the leaves fell from the trees in Tokyo.

You were having . . . a not great day. No improvement from Ushijima— though that was hardly news— nothing seemed to change with him lately. Your job had been going less than smoothly with your boss getting upset at every twist and turn you made, and with Semi helping you hook up Ushijima with a job, it left less opportunities for you to stop by. Oddly enough it caused a sense of disappointment to well up in you.

After that night, Ushijima had stopped asking you about his previous self. Tendou had stopped by and the two had talked, playing volleyball until late at night. Your old redheaded classmate had kindly enough left out details of your relationship at your request.

Ushijima had finally picked up volleyball again, playing at a local recreation center. Once he’d found an issue of a magazine featuring him and he’d just spend an hour, staring at it blankly, as if trying to reconnect through the teenager printed in front of him.

All in all, it would seem Ushijima was well on the road to recovery, at least to participating in society. But there was still a sense of empty forgottenness inside him— things he couldn’t remember, _people_ he couldn’t recall.

You would have been lying if you said you didn’t feel a bit empty either.

Walking into a convenience store, you walked to the cheapest alcohol. Before when you needed numbing, you curled up next to Ushijima and tried to sleep. For a store that claimed to sell conveniences, that was one thing they failed to provide.

You showed your ID and purchased it— vodka, a tribute to your high school days of fooling around and being happy. The cold air hit your face as you left the store and you hugged your thin jacket to you.

 _What a crappy day_.

* * *

 

Ushijima was walking home from a practice match at the rec center. Normally he would run back, but something in the back of his mind urged him to take it slow. Adjusting his jacket, he looked up at the night lights of Tokyo.

His feet moved on autopilot, traversing block upon block. It was strange to him how his mind had forgotten the past twenty-six or so years of his life, and yet it so easily remembered the route to his house. Like a computer with some corrupted data— it could still store new data but the old was lost forever.

It wasn’t until he physically stopped did he realize he’d hit someone. “I’m sorry,” the apology automatically slipped from his mouth (Ushijima had a strange feeling he’d been told to apologize a lot before). He helped the poor person up until he realized it was _you_. He almost let go in surprise. This wasn’t anywhere near your apartment.

You didn’t mention how you too moved in autopilot— walking in the direction of your old home. Cruelly, you’d somehow run into your ex (were you ex’s? You’d technically never broken up . . .).

Ushijima resisted the urge to mention aloud the undeniable scent of alcohol on you.

“Sorry . . .” he repeated, softer. “Are you alright [name]?” And he didn’t just mean then. Were you alright in general? Were you eating properly? He knew you worked long hours— were you getting sleep? Did you exercise a healthy amount?

Sometimes Ushijima stayed up wondering about you, and he couldn’t figure out why. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to throw away the sticky notes, but he’d placed them carefully in a box after seeing the flash of loss on your face when you’d seen them. He still cared.

He’d never stopped.

You were unbalanced and groggy after sipping just a bit of the vodka— you were never a heavyweight drinker— and Ushijima took it upon himself to ensure your face remained unscathed. You hated how you melted at his strong, grounding hold. You’d missed it. You missed _him_.

Ushijima paused for a moment, then accepted your position of leaning on him, shaking gently with tears. He felt concerned at your state but couldn’t think of any solution. At the very least, this felt right. The first right thing he’d done to you since his memory loss.

He recalled your scrunched up face at that dinner— on the verge of tears and emotional breakdown. He’d made you upset— _he_ had. An unexplainable anger had risen from that.

“I miss you, ‘Toshi,” you wailed.

The two of you stood on the sidewalk, covered in lamplight. You didn’t even think Ushijima understood _why_ you were hugging him and crying and being a _mess_ , but then his body seemed to move on its own. Gently making large arcs, Ushijima rubbed your back slowly, as if uncertain of himself. _His body remembers me but not his mind._ Truth be told, you weren’t quite sure why you were still here.

The Ushijima you’d known was miles away— you’d come to terms with this. You’d _thought_ you’d had at least.

Ushijima was silent. He’d made you unhappy again. He couldn’t even know what you were longing for and missing and crying over. Was it him? _I want to be that person_ , he mused to himself. He wanted to be the person you were crying over so he could tell you to stop. _I want you to smile again._

Because there was that voice in the back of his head, whispering to him— _you had had an amazing laugh_.

He wanted to feel it— this sadness you felt. Share the pain with you, _understand_ what there was to miss. Perhaps he would never get ‘better’, maybe his memory would never return. _But I want it to. I want to be able to miss things and know what I’m missing._

“I miss you too,” he finally said softly, gazing up at the stars.

Perhaps you were both mourning Ushijima Wakatoshi.

 

**fin.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr @ushijimas-eyebrows


End file.
